Shh, The Angels Are Talking
by Ghrei
Summary: "So you want me to - explain my motives. Is that all?" said Castiel. "Yes and no," Azrael said enigmatically. "I want to know about them. I want to know why they're the favorites."
1. Death and All Her Friends

**CHAPTER ONE  
DEATH AND ALL HER FRIENDS **

* * *

"Hey, assbutt!"

Castiel finally knew the meaning of Dean's phrase 'inside out'.

Instantaneously, he felt tugged, somewhere in the direction of his liver - then it was everywhere, his body rejected himself and everything that used to be there just wasn't anymore. He could feel his veins seeping through his skin in milliseconds, could feel his insides traveling away from him like the galaxies rushed away from a central point in the universe. It crossed Castiel's mind that this sort of feeling wasn't often experienced. Did God feel this way? Like everything around him was just getting farther and farther away from Him? Like he could do nothing to stop it? He didn't have time to ponder this, though, because then there was pain. Incredible, blinding, ridiculous pain that was everywhere. It didn't matter that it lasted less than a millisecond.

Then everything turned the wrong way out and things went dark.

He wasn't sure how long he was dead. Like the last time, he lost what little he perceived of time. But unlike last time, when he had come back weakened and defeated, now he felt ... renewed. Powerful. Pure.

He opened his eyes and saw threads of colored light dancing in the sky above him. Confused, he sat up, and stared at the starry heaven that was quickly filled with red and green waves of light that undulated and threaded above him.

"Aurora borealis," said a soft, feminine voice beside him. Sitting directly adjacent to him, in a snowbank (He frowned when he felt the cold, wet snow beneath him, and raised his new raw, pink hands to his face momentarily) was a woman who appeared to be in her late twenties. She had wavy blonde hair that fell delicately about her shoulders and framed a thin, small, pale face that stared back at him with eyes almost as piercing blue as his own.

"Azrael?"

"Hello, Castiel."

"It's cold here." He looked her over. She was dressed in a pair of stylish dark jeans, with a brown suede peacoat that fell to her knees and was drawn tightly about her waist. It wasn't enough to withstand these low temperatures.

"We won't be long." She stared up at the sky for a long moment and dismissively waved away his concern. "You're due back in a few minutes."

Castiel stood up like a rocket, suddenly aware that he couldn't teleport back to Dean's side. It was a strange feeling - he could tell he was powerful again, but he was leashed. Another pull tugged at his navel, shocking him enough to stop him from trying to disappear. "Send me back _now. _The Winchesters are in trouble - Dean _needs_ me."

"Calm down," said Azrael softly, crossing her legs nonchalantly. "He'll be fine. I just need to talk to you for a moment."

"Send. Me. Back." Castiel spat each word out with venom, surprised at the power he felt crackling at his fingertips that stemmed from his vehemence.

Azrael raised her eyebrows. "Not my decision." Her eyes flew skyward again, but this time she saw past the stars.

"God?" Castiel's voice was breathless, almost disbelieving. Azrael smiled - actually smiled - and Castiel noticed that with the exception of Gabriel, he hadn't seen an angel smile with such selflessness before.

"Both times. This time comes with a disclaimer, though," said Azrael, rising to his level. The Aurora danced above their heads, forgotten. "I'm sure you felt a change when you woke up? Well, it is true, you're changed. You're an archangel now. Like me," she added, as an afterthought. "You know my name, but do you know who I am?"

"You are Azrael," Castiel said simply. Nothing like the Horseman, Castiel thought. An angel. Where was she when the world was going to hell? "The archangel of Death."

She smiled again, her ice blue eyes sparkling. "Yes."

"is that all?" he asked, anxious. "I'm an archangel - "

"And _alive._"

" - and _alive_, thanks to God. Why am I still here? Talking to you?"

Azrael sighed a little, looking embarrassed. "I suppose it's a selfish whim of mine." She paused, and looked up to the sky again. "Have you ever wondered why you've been particularly favored by Father?"

"_Michael_ is particularly favored by Father," corrected Castiel in a huff.

"Michael is in hell," Azrael said shortly. "You are particularly favored."

Castiel looked more than a little horrified at the implication (or the revelation), causing Azrael to giggle. "Oh, don't look like such a wet cat," she laughed, twirling about to face him. "You're not the next Michael or anything like that. In fact, you're the opposite of Michael - and Lucifer, too."

"How?"

"You value humanity." Azrael's eyes were on the sky again, but she took a few steps forward, and Castiel followed. He observed they were slowly following a snowdrifted road that wound towards a twilight town filled with small log cabins a glowing yellow lights. It was nestled below them in a kind of valley, with mountains sweeping away to either side and swiftly rising to huge, craggy mountains. Pine trees gathered closely here and there, decorating the hilltop with gently curved branches and treetops. The aurora twisted above them, making the white snow reflect and give the entire valley a red and green tinge. Castiel sucked his breath in, surprised by the peaceful scene. He had witnessed such depravity in the last few months - he had not witnessed such tranquility in what seemed like millennia.

"Where are we?" he said finally, when he grasped words.

"North Alaska," Azrael said. Castiel looked over at her again and it struck him how much she seemed like a child. Dainty, delicate, white-blonde and bule-eyed, she personnified what most people would think of when they thought 'angel', according to Sam Winchester. She was as idyllic as the setting around him, practically skipping along the snowdrifts while the apocalypse happened. "It's a town called Providence."

"I appreciate the irony," said Cas, "and the generosity. But I'm needed elsewhere. The apocalypse - "

"Didn't you hear me earlier? Michael's in hell. Lucifer's down there with him. The apocalypse has stopped." At Castiel's amazed expression, Azrael stopped and looked very serious, something Cas hadn't come to expect from her generally light-hearted few minutes that he'd just experienced with her.

"Are you -?"

"Serious? Very."

"Sam Winchester," Cas said. "He's in hell as well."

"Mmhm."

"Dean will not like that."

"I suppose not," Azrael stated, but there was a mischievous glint in her eye that made Castiel wonder if there wasn't more to this story.

"Okay, you've got my attention. Why am I still here?"

Azrael was silent for a few moments, prancing around in the snow and looking up at the light show. "Like I said, you're favored. And, well, I'm quite curious about all that."

"How do you mean?"

"Angels - we aren't really known for our good will toward men. You seem to be the exception to the rule, though. And you seem ... happy. You have a feeling about this. You have this feeling, and you have your power - you aren't ruled by your power. There aren't any rules. Why is this? How is this? How can you have all this, and still have your free will? You could destroy this countryside -" she waved her arms about the valley smoothly - "but you don't. You won't. You love humanity. You want them to live and thrive on this rock. You want them to succeed. Because you did, you didn't fight for Michael, or for Lucifer. You fought for _them_." Azrael leaned in close, and Castiel noticed she'd been stepping towards him the whole time. Her face was only inches from his now.

"I wasn't the only one who did."

"We aren't talking about Gabriel now," Azrael said dismissively, but there again was the mischievous sparkle, that impish crinkling of her brow!

Cas was silent for a few moments, and they stood there, in the cold, close enough that Cas could feel her warm breath on his face. "So?" he said finally, not noticing that he was now whispering.

"I want to know _why,_" she whispered back, her face now the trademark emotionless wall he'd always been familiar with. He was pleasantly surprised when Dean and Sam readily showed their emotions. "I want ... I want to understand."

"To understand why I fought for them," Cas vocalized, now at full volume. He stepped back, frowning. "God wants me to tell you why I took their side?"

"Well," she said, drawing out the word so it sounded more like _weeeellll,_ "not exactly. He wants you to be an example. He wants the angels to love humanity again, but - I guess I'm taking the most direct route."

"So this is a personal favor to _you," _said Cas, not bothering to conceal the note of poison in his voice. He was beginning to get worried about Dean, no matter what Azrael said about the end of the apocalypse.

"Don't make me sound so petty," Azrael replied, looking hurt. "I'm the only one who's approached you. Who's _going_ to approach you. " They were still less than a foot apart. "This could be a two-way street, you know."

Cas fought the urge to use another one of his improvised expletives. Azrael was much more vexing than he had anticipated. "How is _that_, exactly?"

"You have great power now. Much more power than you've ever experienced. If you're not careful, you _could_ destroy this valley by accident. I can help with that." It was Azrael that stepped back now, deepening their separation by another foot. "With control. With what you want to do, with what you _can_ do. You'd be surprised."

Castiel recalled the simple feeling of electricity that had laced through his fingers when he had gotten angry earlier. All right, so that was plausible. And Dean and Bobby were going to need some serious assistance putting the world back together when he got back (_if _he got back). He looked skyward as he considered her offer. "So you want me to - explain my motives. Is that all?"

"Yes and no," Azrael said enigmatically. "I want to know about _them_. I want to know why _they're_ the favorites."

"Something Lucifer never bothered to do."

Azrael gave him a knowing smile. "Do we have a deal?"

"You will summon me?"

"Yes."

"Deal."

"Then Go."

Castiel went to Dean.

* * *

**A/N:** So here goes my first Supernatural fic! I was really intrigued by the looooong passage of time between when Cas was killed and when he finally came back to heal Dean in the finale, since God would have probably immediately brought him back to life. He is God, after all. Anyway, this idea was born, along with what the angels would think with the aftermath of the whole shebang. I hope you all like it - please read and review!


	2. Ever The Same

**CHAPTER TWO**  
**EVER THE SAME **

* * *

_"Cas, you're alive."_

_"I'm better than that."_

The act of healing was so infinitely easier than Cas expected that he swayed on his feet for a moment. Power flew out over his fingertips and touched every bruise, every cut, every broken bone, cascaded over Dean's broken nose, stitched even the scars from recent wounds shut and clean. He stepped swiftly back. He'd wanted to keep his handprint on Dean's shoulder safe. His only physical tether to humanity now.

_"Cas, are you God?"_

_"That's a nice compliment, but no. Although I do believe he brought me back. New and improved."_

* * *

Cas got in the car and Dean started the engine after they'd said farewell to Bobby. Cool, uninterrupted silence floated between the two of them and for a while Cas did not know what to do. This wasn't peaceful silence at all. This was tense, crackling with energy. Cas could sense the emotion rolling off Dean's broad shoulders. He'd never been able to do that before. Cas breathed in - and _smelled_ it. Some new Archangel trick? This wasn't going to end well.

"So how was it?" Dean asked suddenly.

"How was what?" Cas, surprised, blinked several times and was caught staring straight into Dean's shocking eyes. Certain ways they hit the light took Cas off guard. Like right now.

"Death," said Dean, waving his hands to illustrate. "The afterlife. Do you even _have_ an afterlife? You're already a freakin' angel." There was a bite to his words that gave Cas an unfamiliar pang in his chest. Cas understood the pain Dean must be feeling - he'd just lost two brothers as well; hell, he'd lost dozens of brothers in the past few months. But still - he'd never had any sort of relationship like Dean and Sam had. There wasn't anything special to be had, considering the were all brothers and sisters. Dean had lost people who weren't his brother, and now he'd lost Sam too. Cas believed this was probably the best illustration of the phrase 'double whammy'.

"It was ... interesting," Cas said, returning his attention to the road before him. As for now, he wasn't going to just spill his guts about meeting Azrael and her cryptic comments about Sam and Gabriel. "Painful. I've never exploded before."

Cas expected at least a chuckle out of Dean, but all he got instead was a clipped snort and a tightening of Dean's jaw.

"No afterlife, then." Dean's fingers tightened on the steering wheel and Cas sensed the simple sadness wafting off of him. It was so strong it had a smell, again. Like a lake just after a long, tempestuous storm. Cas closed his eyes and breathed it in slowly. "Figures, I guess. You already were in heaven. Where else are you gonna go? Not like you could stay there forever, though. Death's gonna reap God in the end, yanno." He shifted in his seat so his left knee was up against the door, and stretched his right leg out beside the pedals. Cas recognized this position as one that Dean took when he put on the cruise control.

Dean was rambling, a sort of stream-of-consciousness speech about death. A speech that started and stopped. Cas let him go on. He slowly grinned, shaking his head and chuckling. "You are so _young_," Cas said, resting his elbow on the door and putting his chin in his hand, looking at Dean. He stayed like this for a few tense, silent moments before going on.

"Everything ends, Dean. The world _will_ eventually end. God will end. Your life will end. Mine will, too. New things begin, as well - new universes, new realities. New ideas. But between these two points - start, end - there is _time._ Lots and lots of it. God's been around for so long it could be considered Eternity. Whereas you: you're barely a speck, a blip insignificant in the huge ever-encompassing radar known as Time. You can't fathom it." Cas laughed. "_I_ can't fathom it."

"Really, then, what's the point? What's the point of starting anything if all it's gonna do is end? And don't give me that 'just for the hell of it' speech. There's no goddammed point, is there?" A rhetorical question. Cas didn't answer. "I may be '_young'_," here Dean used air quotes, "but insignificant? Well, shit. Thanks, Cas."

"That's not what I meant," backtracked Cas. "I meant -"

"Shut up," said Dean, and put up a dismissive hand. He looked so very tired, Cas wanted him to pull over and rest, at least for a moment. "Just ... let's shut up for a second, okay?"

Cas pursed his lips, folded his hands in his lap, and nodded. They drove. The afternoon blended into twilight and then evening; then the wind began, and the clouds rolled in, and the rain started. Slow, steady rain, not fire and brimstone rain. The windshield wipers _woop-woop_'ed across the windshield. Cas didn't know where they were going, and he didn't ask. He didn't want to know. He was just content with silence, even though Cas knew Dean was on the edge of something. The edge of something terrible. Cas didn't want to push him off, but he knew Dean would probably do the jumping.

* * *

"What are you going to do now?" Dean broke the silence and Cas let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. The air around him crackled with a different emotion.

"I'll return to heaven, I suppose."

"Heaven?"

Cas puzzled over it. Angels had always followed the orders of their Father, at least in theory. For a long time Castiel had known that Michael was most definitely pulling the strings under the guise of the Father. A false prophet. "With Michael in the cage, I'm sure it's total anarchy up there." Cas prayed there were more angels than just Azrael to count on. Angels that hadn't sold their souls to mindless labor.

"So what, you're the new sheriff in town?"

Cas smiled, but not with his eyes. "I like that. Yeah, I suppose I am." Something was brewing. Cas inhaled again. Now the air around Dean seemed like sulphur, firecrackers, and heat.

"Wow. God gives you a brand new, shiny set of wings, and suddenly you're his bitch again." Dean's lip curled and the scent around him exploded into chile peppers and smoke. Cas frowned, worried.

"I don't know _what_ God wants. I don't know if he'll even return. It just - seems like the right thing to do." Cas licked his lips and looked down at his hands.

"Well, if you do see him, you tell him I'm comin' for him next." Dean's smell was now almost pure sulphur, Cas' eyes were watering from the strength of it. Even his consciousness blurred from the briefest instant at the apex of Dean's emotion. This hadn't happened to Cas before. Maybe out of the few people Cas had been around, he _was_ closest to Dean, and that's why he was so affected by him. Maybe Dean was just the most furious person on the planet.

"You're angry." Cas found himself just slightly out of sync, like things were either moving too swiftly or too slowly for him to process.

"That's an understatement." It was.

Cas bit his lip again. "He helped. Maybe even more than we realized." It wasn't God's fault. It was Michael's. Dean had no right to be taking pot shots at his Father. Cas never ever made comments about Dean's father. Never _ever._ A single lick of anger floated in Cas' gut for an instant.

"That's easy for you to say. He brought _you_ back. What about Sam? What about me, huh? Where's my grand prize? All I got is my brother _in a hole._" Now Cas smelled the pain on his friend, mixed with sulphur. Cas wrinkled his nose and endured it.

"You got what you asked for, Dean. No paradise. No hell. Just more of the same. I mean it, Dean. What would you rather have? Peace ... or freedom?" God Almighty, it hurt to be around Dean. It hurt to see him. To _smell_ him. Cas was feeling his pain and then some. It set Cas' teeth on edge. Oh, how he wanted to say something neat and tidy and comforting, but then he felt the pull again: that tug around his navel. Fearing another explosion, Cas gave Dean a final pained look (he was sure Dean hadn't seen it) and followed the pull.

Dean turned, hoping (he told himself he wasn't) to find his friend sitting there. In Sam's seat. Gone. "Well, you really suck at goodbyes, you know that?"

Dean drove to Lisa's and didn't look back.

* * *

**A/N:** I've used the actual dialogue from the end of 5x22, and I've underlined it here. I did not write those bits of speech, I do not own them, nor do I pretend to be affiliated with them in any way. Thanks for the reviews, they made my day! I hope you like the next installments!


	3. Under Pressure

**CHAPTER THREE  
UNDER PRESSURE**

**

* * *

**

Castiel arrived with a gentle _whoosh_. Out of breath. Again.

The sun hadn't set over the purplish-red valley in front of him. In fact, calling it a _valley_ was a vast understatement. It was shatteringly huge, opening beneath him in a jagged, colorful yawn of rock and wildlife. An aquamarine smudge of color snaked below him. The Colorado River. The Grand Canyon.

"The South Rim," Azrael said, just on Castiel's left. "At sunset it's particularly wonderful. After a rainstorm, even better." She looked up into the spotless blue sky and frowned, like the weather had offended her. Cas was in the midst of rolling his eyes at her when all of a sudden, a sable bank of cloud rolled in towards them, patched so the sun could shine through. Rain began to fall. The canyon looked like it was on fire and freezing over simultaneously. Cas forgot why he was so angry for a moment and just watched it.

But only for a moment.

He whirled to face her. Instead of her previous jeans and coat, now all Azrael wore was a simple sundress. Her hair was down, and framed her smirking face in waves of golden flax. He kind of wanted to punch her, but also felt that if he did, it might be considered a crime against humanity, she was so damn striking.

"Azrael." Cas gritted his teeth and wrenched his eyes away from her back to the desert storm in front of him. "Why am I here?"

"We had a deal, didn't we?" Azrael said with a little sigh, almost as if she was speaking to a child. "Well, here I am, summoning you. That _was_ the deal."

"I thought you'd at least wait a bit!" Cas snapped. His hands were balled into fists from anger. "I need more time - Dean needs me there."

"He does, does he?" Azrael spun away, found a large rock, and plopped down on top of it. "Didn't seem so entranced by your company a moment ago."

"Are you _spying _on me?"

Azrael looked surprise. "Well, of course. Why wouldn't I? I'm supposed to be learning from you, right?"

Castiel, incredulous, scoffed and folded his arms. "You're still _spying_. What I do in my own time is _private._"

"Since when?" Azrael folded her arms. "You're an angel. All we do is spy on people. That's kind of a guardian angel's job description." She put a hand on her chin now, realizing something. "You're Dean's guardian angel, right?"

"Yes. Of course." Cas' answer was altogether too fast.

"But you _hid_ him. You can't watch him without knowing where he is," Azrael said, a mischievous smile creeping across her lips.

"It was ... a sacrifice I had to make," Cas said, deflating a bit. "The Winchesters couldn't bear to keep being harassed by Michael. They needed peace, if they were ever going to stop this."

"Of course, of course." Azrael gave him a long look and crossed her legs. "That doesn't explain why you didn't heal the sigils on his ribs when you healed the rest of him just now." She raised her eyebrows.

Cas' breath caught in his throat. "I - Dean - he doesn't deserve to be stalked. He doesn't." Cas averted his eyes again. "Even if that means I'll never know where he is."

"Uh-_huh_," said Azrael. Cas could tell she wasn't convinced. Neither was he.

"Why the hell did you bring me here now, anyway? I'd much rather be back there. He needs me: for God's sake, his _brother_ just died!"

"Yes. Pity about that," said Azrael, sighing a little sigh.

"_Pity?_ A Winchester just threw himself into the pit for the good of all, sacrificed his _soul_ for everything, and all you can say is _pity?_" Cas was spitting with anger. He noticed that though he could even smell his own anger (a mixture of rust and smoke) he could detect absolutely nothing from Azrael. "Pity he died. Pity he's a hero. Pity the only two men on earth who've been tempted and loyal and strong throughout _everything_ have just been rewarded by being ripped apart. Yeah, it's a _damn pity!"_

He lunged at her, and she stood to catch his coat - then they were stumbling off the cliff-face. They fell and tumbled for a few instants, then teleported to a lower trail, where Azrael's perfect lips curled into a frown and she slammed Cas against the rock.

"What the fuck has gotten into you?" she trilled, still clutching his collar. "What if someone saw us? Mind-wipes are _so_ insipid. I'd make you do them, you know." She could have been talking about what color to paint her bedroom.

"What the fuck has gotten into me? What the fuck is wrong with _you?_ You don't even care that a good man died!" He shook her free and stepped away, revolted.

Azrael looked a little hurt. Her expressions always seemed subtle, maybe even faked. Castiel wondered if psychopaths looked like her when they tried to simulate emotion. Maybe not - even though it seemed faint, the pain on her face was _really_ there. He thought it was there, a little, at least. Now if only he could get her to feel something over Sam's death.

"I want to care," she said softly, looking at her feet. "I really do."

Cas dusted himself off and looked at her sideways. He inhaled, and detected the slightest scent of rosemary. It was so faint that Cas would have pinned it on a nearby bush of it - if there had been any nearby. There weren't.

"I hate saying this," he said, adjusting his collar. "But I believe you." He turned away from her and started to watch the storm again.

"You're still pissed at me?" she asked, incredulous. "You stink of anger," she said, answering his unasked question.

"You ripped me away at a bad time," Cas growled. "Dean's not in a good place right now."

"Dean hasn't been in a good place for ages," Azrael said boredly. "Nothing new there."

"Actually, _Azrael,"_ Cas said acidly, "There is something new. His little brother's in hell. In the _cage,_ no less."

"Well, you've lost brothers. So have I. We're all right."

"We're all right because all we've had to lose were brothers. You've never lost anyone who wasn't an angel, Azrael. You've never cared about anyone who wasn't in your legion. No angels have," said Cas, closing his eyes. Explaining this was ... irritating.

"I don't understand," said Azrael.

"'Course you don't," Cas said bluntly. "You've got no one to care about. So you can't possibly know. You can't possibly feel anything like that for humanity." He shuffled his feet in the reddish dust. "You've never been close to it."

"Don't condescend merely because I've never held a human soul in my hands," Azrael said brusquely.

"Christ, Azrael!" The mention of the Messiah made Azrael take a step backward in shock. "Don't you get it? It's _because_ I raised Dean that I feel this way for the humans." He turned, and stared into her blue eyes. The gaze almost felt electric. "Human souls - you can't know what touching one is like. I can't describe it." And he couldn't.

Azrael held his eyes for a while longer, then turned away and gathered her knee-length skirt around her hips. She picked her way slowly up the trail. Cas watched her for a while, trying to figure out what she was thinking. There was obviously something very odd in wanting to walk physically up the steep canyon trail when she had the power to traverse any distance at all. Perhaps she was trying to 'rough it', like humans did every day of their lives. "Strange creature," Cas breathed, remembering Lucifer's own words toward him. He'd ridden in cars, but that was mostly because his power had left him. Azrael was clearly making a selfless effort.

"So, you're saying, then," panted Azrael as they eventually reached the top, "that the only way I'll feel for humanity is if I raise a human?"

Cas watched her panting form with a mixture of curiosity and horror. "What - no! I mean ... you're not going to raise anyone, are you?" Lifting just any soul from Hell wasn't something angels just went about doing. You didn't get down _there_ by selling Girl Scout cookies.

The flicker of mischief was almost indiscernible, if you weren't looking for it. But Cas _was _looking for it. It was gone almost as soon as it had appeared. Then her face was as smooth as glass again. "No," she said simply.

"And that's not what I said," Cas replied, shaking a reprimanding finger at her. "I just said you've never been close to it. And climbing up mountains, however heroic, won't get you closer to them."

"Fine. I'll try to get closer." She took her turn dusting herself off now. The sun was almost down, and Cas could count three rainbows just from where he was standing. "You _do _ mean like, talking to them, right?"

"Right."

"Would you like to know how to make weather?" Azrael asked. "_Quid pro quo_, right?"

Cas nodded, and Azrael began to explain how to concentrate on the millions of water droplets in the upper atmosphere, and then how to pour small parts of his consciousness into each droplet, willing them to condense. It took a fair bit of strength, and since Castiel wasn't used to anything like it at all, he found himself panting slightly after making a simple, small, cumulus cloud.

"You'll get better," Azrael reassured, patting his shoulder. "First time sucks, always." She waggled her eyebrows, clearly meaning something far more salacious. "Just keep practicing. I'll teach you to make lightning once you get good at cumulonimbus."

"Lightning?"

"Yeah, lightning. Acts of God are the best. Good for getting out frustration." She turned around and started walking closer to the cliff's edge, spreading out her arms and looking down. Perk of being an angel - no fear of heights.

"Right," Cas said tiredly. He was feeling a headache coming on. "Can I go now?"

Azrael didn't look hurt at all, which was reassuring. She pursed her lips and considered. "Alright, go ahead. I'll call you later."

"_Later _later," Cas corrected. "I need some time."

"Oh, sure," Azrael waved him away. "No problem." She paused, and gave him a warm, selfless smile. Cas reluctantly smiled back.

"Go," she whispered, and Castiel felt the tether disappear, and he immediately vanished from the South Rim, leaving Azrael to watch the last rays of sun disappear over the horizon.

* * *

**A/N**: I suddenly have a ton of muse for this story, and it's really quite fun for me to write right now. xD Expect Az to lift Cas off to wonderfully beautiful places. i30 . tinypic . com/ 2efktfs .jpg is what Castiel should see of the stormy South Rim. Please keep on feedbacking! It's awesome. =D


	4. Highway to Hell

**CHAPTER FOUR  
HIGHWAY TO HELL **

* * *

Castiel put himself right where he used to be before Azrael called him away - smack dab in the middle of a highway. In the rain.

He hadn't expected Dean to just stop the car and wait for him, of course. He was just sad and disappointed, both for not seeing the Impala up ahead and for wanting so badly to see it. Foolish. Like lemmings. Lemmings threw themselves off cliffs after other lemmings. Proof that God occasionally had a sense of humor. Cas scoffed. Occasionally? The whole damn planet was a stage for his theatrics. God was the greatest comedian of all time. Because the best comedy was rooted in sadness. In truth. In despair. The fact that everything could be so horrible, and yet life would carry so cruelly on. A sick sense of humor. God had one black funny bone.

Castiel's hair was wet and dripping now, droplets falling into his eyes, obscuring his vision. He wished for a scant moment that Azrael had taught him how to cloud-_burst_, but then he thought better of it. The effect of the rain was bracing. It reminded him he was alive and numbed him at the same time. He began to walk.

His plan? At first, he had no plan. He was just wet and walking. He did begin to slowly form one, though. Roads always led to towns. Towns always had telephones. He prayed Dean hadn't gotten rid of his. Well, if that happened, he would just keep walking. He would find Dean. He would find Dean even if that meant scouring every inch of small town America. Because he had to. Because if he lost Dean, Cas would be lost, too. And he knew it.

So he walked. He wasn't tired. He wasn't bored. He just walked.

A couple of hours and several miles later, the rain was still going strong, and so was Cas. The only thing that had changed was the scenery. Cas now found himself on the crest of a little hill (one of the few in central Illinois) and a little town was laid out in front of him. Cas saw that town and somehow just knew that Dean wasn't far away. Not there, maybe. But close. He almost smiled.

That's when things started going downhill again.

"Hello, Castiel," came a voice behind him. A male tenor, light and edgy, with a tinge of heat. Cas turned and accosted the speaker. He was tall, very slim - narrow, even. His face was tinged with auburn scruff and held the sophistication of an experienced individual. He had warm, medium brown eyes, and he wore a long dark coat that accentuated his semblance to a beanpole.

"Hello, Nathaniel," said Castiel. He recognized him immediately. Nathaniel had been instrumental in the breaking of the original 66 seals, before Castiel had been aware of the angel's actual plan. Fact about angels - they liked to keep things from each other. It kept things interesting. Like now. Castiel was very interested in why he was staring straight at the volatile smirk of one of his most dangerous rivals. He wondered if Nathaniel was very interested why he was trudging through the rain.

"Lovely night for a stroll," said Nathaniel, his lips curling back in a humorless smile. Clearly he thought God wasn't the only one with a sense of humor. "It's been a while since I've just thrown it all away and decided to _walk_ eighteen miles in the rain."

"What the hell do you want, Nathaniel?" asked Castiel, taking several steps toward him, spreading his arms and frowning.

Nathaniel shoved his hands deeper into his bottomless pockets and laughed, and Castiel imagined him for a second with a forked tongue. He pushed his pelvis forward and threw his head back, cackling. Theatrics. And from what Cas knew of Nathaniel, theatrics wasn't good.

"Oh, I just want to see God's favorite," said Nathaniel, returning again to the barely sophisticated calm. "His new golden boy. Trudging through the rain. Some victory, eh?"

"Lucifer and Michael are in the cage. The apocalypse has stopped. I'll call that a victory," Cas said simply, and started to move away. He was starting to smell Nathaniel, and he didn't like what his nose was telling him.

"Really? You really think everyone living out their petty little lives _here_ is a victory?"

"I've heard all this before, Nathaniel. I get it. You wanted to make the world paradise. _You _especially, being the Angel of Fire," he murmured, still walking. "You were gonna destroy the world, before it could be remade. I don't care what you want, or wanted, just know that it won't happen now."

He heard another trademark Nathaniel scoff from behind him. Following him. Great. "God's not on your side," he said. Castiel heard his footsteps and took this time to whirl around on him.

"God's not on anyone's _side_, you idiot," Cas snarled. It had been one hell of a day. "Nobody knows what He wants any more. Nobody knows what to _do_ any more, so I would suggest that you get off your high cherubim and reevaluate your alliances."

They were close now, like Castiel and Azrael had been just hours before. Nathaniel towered over him, but Cas stood his ground. He was not in any mood. From what he could gather from Nathaniel (a smell of rotten fish and eggs, which couldn't be anything good) he wasn't in any mood, either.

"You're not in any position to lecture me," spat Nathaniel, adding in an Enochian insult.

"Stop following me."

"No."

"Leave me alone."

Nathaniel laughed again. "No."

"You know what you are, Nathaniel?" Cas looked at his feet and took a deep breath. The rain continued on. "You're a lost lamb. You're powerful, sure, but are you prudent? You think you know every facet of the argument, but you really only know what they've told you. One side of the story. You don't _know_ these people, Nathaniel!" Cas swung his arm towards the little town. "You don't know how many lives you'd extinguish ... you don't know the meaning of life. You've never been alive. You're just an empty, dead shell, just like Lucifer - "

Before Cas could finish, Nathaniel's very real, very live fist collided with his jaw, and Cas tasted blood. That was different, too. Sweet and salty and metal all at the same time. Cas realized he was mulling over the complexities of his vessel's own blood rather than fighting back. That soon changed, and he clenched his fists and felt the crackle of hot electricity in his fingertips.

Cas returned the blow with another in Nathaniel's narrow nose, but Nathaniel was coming around quick. Cas took a knee to the stomach and a clap over his ears before he gained enough leverage to slam his shoulder into Nathaniel's chest, knocking the taller man off balance. The next few blows the pair exchanged were too fast and too bright for human eyes, each channeling their angelic might through their fists and into their opponent. Cas hit Nathaniel in the gut again and whirled to get an arm around the other angel's neck, but Nathaniel retaliated with a stomp on Castiel's knee, forcing it back the wrong way. Cas decided to take advantage of his plummeting to earth by grabbing Nathaniel's collar and forcing his head down to the asphalt with a solid _crack._

Both angels halted for a minute, both bleeding heavily. Cas' left leg was bent at a sickeningly cruel angle, and he had cuts and bruises on his face. He spat out a mouthful of blood. Nathaniel was giggling - a sick, delirious noise, his teeth stained with crimson and his hair matted with scarlet, his head creating a pool of blood. Both had dark purple marks on their knuckles. Both would be perfectly all right in a few hours, as long as they didn't go another ten rounds.

"Castiel, Castiel," said Nathaniel choppily, a thin trickle of blood oozing out the corner of his once-handsome mouth, "Angel of Temperance. Your reputation -"

"I am not at all concerned with my reputation. I don't live by mine, as you do." Cas staggered to his feet. "Foolish creature. I could kill you."

"And I, you." Nathaniel eased himself up off the ground and rubbed his head. "I am not the one who aligned with the sinners, Castiel. _You're_ the foolish one."

"You're wrong," said Cas. He was tired. So very tired. He just wanted to find Dean. He just wanted this brother of his, this once noble and powerful being, to realize the truth. "I hope you believe me one day. I won't kill you. But follow me again, and I shall send you back to heaven. I hear it's a real party up there. They're all not too keen on you and your misled brothers."

Castiel got up, turned and left Nathaniel chuckling in the road.

"Then leave me, _brother_. But I am not the misled one."

There was a flutter of invisible wings and Nathaniel was gone. Cas kept limping in the rain, towards the little town called Breckinridge.

* * *

Azrael was alone. Again.

She'd spent her existence in solitude. Her work, or rather, the work of Death, wasn't a work that condoned much friendship. Most angels she spoke with were wondering whether or not she was there to end them. So she spent her time watching. Observing, unnoticed, in the shadows. God's favor towards the creatures called Humans was fascinating. Sinners, every one - but miraculously blessed. This confused Azrael. She was not used to being confused.

She was still in her dress, and standing conveniently over the Cage in the cemetery of Lawrence, Kansas. She was waiting patiently. Sometimes she felt like that was all she did - wait for the ends of things. She recalled the Greek story of the three Fates: three sisters who wove the tapestry of Life together. Azrael was the oldest sister in the analogy. The one who waited, with the scissors. The one who ended things. That was her existence. Her purpose. Wait and end. End and wait.

She stood there, waiting, in the little Kansas cemetery. She hummed a little tune, one she had come to know as 'Stairway to Heaven'. Ironic, considering her duties here.

All of a sudden, her wait was over. A warm, bright light bathed the headstones and Azrael stopped humming, lifting her eyes to the light. Even though her body made her appear in her late twenties, the way she carried herself and the way her eyes flashed made her look like a little girl.

"Hello, Father," she said in a small, cheery voice. The reply to her one-sided conversation could not be heard by human ears.

"No. No. Yes. Of course." She paused and waited patiently, apparently anticipating a lengthy reply. "I volunteer willingly. I understand the consequences. I accept responsibility for the soul called Sam Winchester, the sinner in Your care, who lives in the cage with Your sons. I will raise him. I will watch him. I am his."

Azrael took a deep breath and was plunged into Hell.

Hell was just that, _hell. _Azrael found the stench was the thing that offended her most. Rotting flesh, rotten _everything._ Rotten souls, that was the worst. The smell of evil hit Azrael in a place that made her shudder to think of. She thanked God she could not see much more than inky blackness and the occasional flame, because the screams were enough. It struck her that Hell was even Hell for Lucifer, when she saw the cage. She stopped - her wings refused to carry her on - when she saw the cruel contraption.

She was only allowed milliseconds, she remembered. Less than an instant to do her duty and keep the other Archangels in their place. She reached through the bars and touched the soul known as Sam Winchester on the right shoulder, gripped him tight and pulled.

Castiel was right, the feeling was indescribable. Just _touching_ something so perfect, so _imperfect_ as the human soul was incredible. She was flooded through with emotion; Sam's emotion. His pain and fear, his hatred. His love. His triumph. His peace. Azrael couldn't feel anything that wasn't Sam's. She knew Dean now, knew the strength of their bond. Knew how hard it was to leave the broken brother at the edge of the pit. Knew how he had no other choice. Knew his sacrifice.

It hurt, pulling all that grief and pain and sin and goodness out of Hell. Azrael thought she'd be pulled apart in little pieces. She could only pray she made it out of the Cage, she had no idea anymore. She could only pray the soul she held close was intact. Azrael, at one point, had given up on surviving the ordeal. She only wanted her little soul to make it out alive.

And then all at once, she was gasping on the grass, on her hands and knees. She was out. Lord, what a beautiful feeling, to be _out_ of that place. But where was Sam? Where was her soul? She felt suddenly naked, a failure. Like her other half was forever lost. She nearly drove herself insane, clawing at the ground. Where was he? She was sure she pulled him out. _Did_ she pull him out? Did he even make it out of the Cage? Maybe during all the pain and confusion she let him go. Let the only chance he ever had go to waste. But no - that was impossible. Azrael would have never let that soul go. Not accidentally. Not without dying herself.

A hand plunged out of the grass and felt around. Another hand. Two arms. A mess of brown hair. Broad shoulders. A flannel-shirted torso. Hips. A belt. Jeans. Work boots.

Azrael's face was a blank canvas again. She stood up and looked at the dirty, panting man on the cemetery grass before her.

"Sam Winchester."

"Yes?" said Sam.

"I am Azrael."

"You raised me?"

"Yes."

"But _how - _I mean, the Cage, Lucifer -"

"With the help of God." She gave him a little smile.

Nobody spoke for a long while. Azrael just watched him. She was content with just watching him. Well, she was content, until she got an idea. Azrael wasn't known for keeping ideas to herself.

"Do you know where Dean is, Sam Winchester?"

Sam was quiet for a bit longer, Azrael could tell he was checking himself. Ten fingers, ten toes, no scars. Except for the handprint over the top of his right shoulder and neck.

"Just Sam is fine, Azrael," he said softly, staring up into the sky. "And yes. Well, I know where he's _supposed _to be."

"Think of that place," Azrael said abruptly, then placed two fingers on Sam's forehead and whisked him there.

The streetlight popped and went out at Azrael's arrival. She frowned. She had to keep from letting her power getting away from her like that. It just wasn't subtle. Sam was there on the street, under the sputtering lamp, staring through the window at his brother having dinner with a dark-haired woman and a boy.

"There," Azrael said simply, and folded her arms. "That wasn't so hard." She looked over, trying to read the man's expression. But instead of running to the door and immediately reuniting with his brother, Sam just sadly smiled.

He turned to her, and Azrael saw his tears well up before she smelled the whiskey and rain of sadness rolling off his soul. "Thank you," he said. "Really, I - thank you, Azrael. Thank your Father for me, too."

"Thank him yourself," Azrael faintly whispered, but Sam didn't hear her.

"You have to take me away from here now."

"Why? Don't you love him? Don't you want to tell him you're alright?"

"Yes," breathed Sam, his eyes briefly flicking towards the 'happy family dinner'. "But Dean ... he deserves a normal life. He does. And to him, I'm dead. The Apocalypse is over, everything's all right - just ... just let me leave him alone."

Azrael pursed her lips, unsure of what to do. She remembered her oath.

"Are you absolutely sure?"

"Yes. Oh," said Sam, suddenly remembering something, "can you hide me? Like Cas did?"

"Of course."

Azrael placed two fingers to Sam's forehead and the street was suddenly empty. The streetlamp flickered back to life.

* * *

**A/N**: Thank you all for reading! I'm going to try and add chapters about once a week if I can. Stay tuned, there's a shower scene in the works and some Gabe and Crowley action coming up. D Thanks for the feedback!


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